Reality Check
by A Prayer Becomes a Vow
Summary: Sam leaves for Stanford, and Dean is caught by surprise. He must deal with John's frustration on his own, and learn how to adjust to Sam's absence as everything goes downhill. But do people really ever get used to being alone? -Hiatus-
1. Intro

**A/N:** Hey! So I've been working on a little story here, and this is kind of an intro/prologue of what to expect. To see if it reels anyone in or whatever.

It'll begin with Sam going off to Stanford, and lead on from there (more from Dean's perspective of things, but a little bit of everything mixed in.) I'm about done writing it, but I figured instead of re-writing this intro for the fiftieth time, I may as well get over my anxiety and put it out while I finish up the other things.

If this goes according to plan, I'll put the 1st real chapter out soon, then weekly updates.

We're looking at 13 chapters, maybe? 15, tops.

Also this is my first-ever fanfic. Ahhhh and I truly have the huuugest anxiety revolving around receiving criticism and putting my work out there. This is tough for me, so maybe be at least fairly nice? Lol. That said, I didn't intentionally slack off or anything. I really do hope you enjoy.

And this is officially too long of a note. I won't keep you any longer.

-Vow

* * *

 _ **No.**_

 _ **It was all wrong.**_

 _ **It wasn't supposed to happen like this.**_

None of the slamming doors, the scattered emotions. None of the cold looks or bitter disapproval. No silent treatments, no holding of grudges.

It was supposed to be a happy thing.

Where did it go wrong?

They were supposed to have had a decent childhood. Lived a decent _life._

A life where one might deem it acceptable for one of them to, I don't know, maybe simply go off to _college?_

Was that _really_ so much to ask?

.

Take most American, suburban, middle-class kids for example.

Their first day of Kindergarten normally consists of the mother walking the child to the door. She'll hug them tightly, and leave them with their teacher.

When the mother leaves, the child is left in tears.

And sure, this separation may be sad at first. They may be a little anxious and slow to adjust. But by the end of the day, they'll have learned something new, maybe even made some new friends.

They'll decide- _hey._ This Kindergarten thing isn't so bad after all.

Yeah. Well, things are a little different for kids who have no mother.

You know what Kindergarten _shouldn't_ be?

It shouldn't be the child walking to the school by foot by himself every day. Nearly getting wind-bitten because he can't afford a decently-sized coat, or sunburned because the distance is so far.

They should be driven there by a parent, carpool with a friend, take the bus...

but _no._

School buses don't make stops at run-down little motels.

It's hard to make friends when you're only at that school for 3 weeks, and you can't even tell anyone the truth as to _why._

And your dad can't exactly drive you when he's out tracking Wendigos.

.

Kids should get special lunches packed with nice notes from their moms. They should get excited that she remembered to pack them a cookie.

They shouldn't have to get up early to pack their own lunches. They shouldn't be holding onto the hope that it won't be moldy or stale by the time lunchtime rolls around.

They shouldn't have to starve some days because they don't have enough food packed inside their poor excuse for a fridge - a cooler or a thermal bag with ice. Occasional motels had mini-fridges, but what help was that? Not much food can fit in those when your dad's got 2 six-packs chilling.

When children have school programs, their parents should be there. Sitting in the front seat of the auditorium, cheering them on.

When they make the honor roll, or get recognized for perfect attendance, or make it to the spelling bee, the parents should be proud. They shouldn't be too busy killing demons to even show up.

A teen should learn to drive in parking lots, get help in algebra when they're stuck on a problem, get relationship advice from a parent...

There should be a parent present in their adolescence, to help them grow.

To shape them into a half-decent person with a fairly-bright future.

To teach them life lessons, act as a support system, to guide them through everything.

There should be a parent present in their _life,_ period.

.

And when they're grown, and the time comes that they're ready to go to college, they should visit campuses with their parents.

And won't it be exciting, touring all those schools? That is, as interested students. Not as undercover janitors working to take down a poltergeist on campus.

Kids should carefully weigh their school options. They should send in applications with the guidance of loved ones. And they should have people there to support them if they happen to get in.

You know what they _definitely_ shouldn't have to do? They shouldn't have to hide their acceptance letter from their dad. Especially when it's for a school as prestigious as Stanford.

And they most certainly should not be _shunned_ for their achievements. They should be congratulated. _Praised,_ even.

But sadly, that was not the case for Sam.

And was that such a surprise, really, with the kind of life they led?

No. It was to be expected.

What more can be said? The Winchesters were not a normal family.

And instead of driving Sam to campus himself, Dean was left sitting on his motel bed, staring at the door. Jaw dropped in shock, tears threatening more every second to come on. As Sam stormed out and left.

 _On his own._

* * *

What had Dean just witnessed? Was it another argument that would blow off?

Sam would come back. He and his dad would cool off, and they'd make up eventually, right?

No...

No, this seemed bigger than that. This time it wasn't like that.

The anger present in their voices was more genuine than it had ever been. As if they could meaningfully say _"I hate you."_ without a hint of irony. As if they weren't just gonna patch things up this time.

Dean feared that what he'd just seen was his brother walking out on them for the last time. And he couldn't bear that thought.


	2. Chapter 1

It was a Saturday afternoon, and the Winchesters were spending it as they'd typically spend any Saturday. Holed up inside a stale-smelling motel room, researching a case.

John sat in an armchair, attentively scribbling something in his journal. His fountain pen made a rhythmic scratching noise as it strode across the paper, making words almost effortlessly flow onto the page.

Dean was sitting on the edge of his motel bed, finishing off the last of a stick of beef jerky. Writing down their latest case's information, in as much detail as he could manage. And since he didn't have a journal of his own, the motel's complimentary pad of paper would have to do. The pen the motel provided was cheap and low on ink. Dean found himself frequently shaking it and pressing it down on the paper vigorously, just to get the ink near the tip.

And Sam stood in the corner of the room, his cell phone in one hand, and nothing in the other. This was one time he wasn't preoccupied with something else. Sam almost always resorted to phonecall multitasking. Writing stuff down or navigating his laptop while chatting with someone on the other line. But this time, Sam was on a call. Nothing more, nothing less.

Dean could tell, by the duration of this call, that Sam must be nearing the end of the conversation. He wasn't sure who his brother was talking with, though.

Random solicitors, maybe? Could be. Sam was an expert on dealing with them. Turning them down politely enough, without cussing them out like Dean tended to, yet still convincing them to never call back again. He hated doing it, but he was a genius.

But this- this wasn't the typical business call. Too many _"thank you"_ s. Not quite enough of the silent grumbling or aggravated facial expressions that normally came from Sam's end. Dean couldn't exactly blame Sam, he'd feel the same way if he got stuck talking with those almost robotic people trying to sell stuff.

* * *

So if it wasn't someone selling something, who else could it be?

A _friend?_

That's the thing. They didn't really have many 'friends'. The hunter lifestyle didn't allow for friendships. People were either as close as family, or they were acquaintances. Very rarely was there anything in between.

So, yeah. This could be a hunter 'acquaintance' on the other line.

But even then, Sam would lighten up upon talking with them. He wouldn't be quite so formal in his tone. You'd hear them at least mention some sort of monster or creature they'd fought. Or whichever one they were currently hunting.

And Sam wasn't exactly fully involved or immersed in the current witch hunt that John and Dean were conducting, anyway.

His shoulders were too stiff, his language was too formal. His face was too intense, too focused.

No, it couldn't be a hunter who'd called.

 ** _Or, wait..._**

Come to think of it, Dean couldn't remember hearing a phone ring at all.

Sam must have dialed this person himself. What could be so important that Sam would need to call someone?

-And, wait, did he just hear Sam tell the person their address? _What?_

 ** _Oh, well._**

Dean had other things to focus on. More important, less trivial things. It was time to go over everything he knew about these witches.

Or, at least, he was _pretty_ sure it was witches. The circumstances of the victims' deaths seemed too weird to be anything else.

One guy, for example, was found in the middle of a forest, with a tree beginning to sprout out of his open chest wound. And unless there was some new weird disease circulating, Dean was pretty sure most people don't get plants growing out of them.

Did this mean it had to be witches? No.

No, there were countless other crazy things out there. Too many to even start to try to name.

But witches was his hunch, and he decided that his first hunch had to be a good enough place to start. Especially since he'd otherwise hit a dead end.

* * *

It was tough, though, when Sam got like this. When he didn't want anything to do with their hunts, it usually all fell upon Dean. To do all the work, take on the entire researching end of things.

Not to say that John was not an excellent researcher- quite on the contrary, he was a pro. But John was definitely more interested in the hands-on stuff. If there was a ritual to perform, John wanted to perform it. If there was a spell to cast, an incantation to chant, an elixir to concoct, John wanted to be the one to do it. If there were throats to slit, or graves to dig, or bodies to burn...

Besides that, when it came to talking to families of victims, John wasn't the most sympathetic person. He meant well, sure, but he had a hard time relating without making it too personal. He had lost his wife to one of these creatures, after all, and many times he'd let that guard his judgment.

He'd challenge their motives. He'd ask them _why wouldn't they be devoting their life to hunting the murderer down themselves?_ And that didn't always work out too well. It didn't often yield them the preferred answers or results... So that part of the hunt eventually fell upon his sons, since they had a gentler approach.

Now, Dean's approach wasn't as sappy as Sam's was, of course, which was the ideal way of getting information. Sam would let them tell their sob stories, pat them on the back, say weird stuff like "I'm here for you" or whatever. That wasn't how Dean rolled. But he _was_ still more sensitive than John was.

But this time, Sam was out of it. He was acting all weird, he didn't want anything to do with it. He'd only make things harder if Dean tried to make him tag along. Therefore, talking to families would be Dean's job this time around, and Dean's job alone.

* * *

In a couple years, he'd finally be at a believable age to fake being an FBI agent, like his dad sometimes did. He'd tried passing as one a few times. It worked for the most part, the majority of people bought into the charade. But the occasional person would still tend to ask " _whoa, how long have you been a fed? They let you in that young?!"_

In other words, some people were becoming too suspicious of him. So for the time being, Dean decided he would stick with rolling out his pest control ID, his 'door-to-door technician' kit, anything that sounded just ridiculous enough to believe.

Here, he'd decided to go the 'interning journalist' route. He claimed to be looking for a 'scoop' for the local paper, and wanting to get the real details of all the deaths.

Upon talking to the victims' families, he'd discovered that each victim had gone missing a few days before their bodies were found.

When Dean asked the routine "did you notice anything strange?", the first two seemed unfazed. Like they'd heard that kind of thing before. Like they believed in it. And the last lady just seemed annoyed. Like skeptical, "Oh, not this again," annoyed. Like she heard about the supernatural often.

Apparently, the victims had believed in the sort of things the Winchesters hunted.

The first guy (the _plant guy)_ was an enthusiast, according to his mom. He'd been taking mythological studies as an elective at his high school. He and his friends would go ghost hunting in old abandoned houses. Study up old unsolved mysteries, delve into conspiracy theories. He was after the truth.

The second victim was very open about her obsession. She knew the supernatural was real, and she wanted them on her side. She had partaken in countless seances, and late-night demon summoning rituals. She formed a coven, started practicing witchcraft... She was messing around with stuff she shouldn't have been.

The third guy was just extremely superstitious. He knew very well what was out there, and he was terrified of it. His girlfriend had mentioned wanting to break off their relationship countless times. Especially when he'd start to draw things on the walls and pour stuff on the floor to ward off evil spirits.

Why were they dead? Perhaps they'd discovered the coven, and the witches saw them as threats. Or maybe they did something that pissed off these witches.

Assuming they _were_ witches...

At this point, Dean wasn't so sure anymore.

Nothing was clear on that end.

* * *

Obviously, _something_ unnatural was at large, but there were still no blatant clues as to _what._

Normally, the families they'd talk to would have some big clue to reveal. A grotesque detail to go off of. One they'd somehow been missing until that moment, to help them track down the monsters.

But this time that wasn't the case. This time, everyone around him was acting different. And it was affecting the overall mood of... _everything._

This all felt weird. Dean couldn't put his finger on it, but something was seriously wrong. He feared something not-so-pleasant was about to occur any moment.

He still had to figure out what the hell was going on. Who - or, more accurately, _what_ \- was doing these things, where they were hiding out, and how to take them down. Which would no doubt take a while. Especially with no leads, and no help from Sam, who was still on the phone with _somebody._


	3. Chapter 2

_**"Okay."**_

 ** _"Yeah."_**

 ** _"Alright."_**

The simple phrases Sam was using in his phone call were confusing.

Sam was intelligent, and he normally had more to say than that.

But not this time. This call had lasted what felt like forever, yet Sam didn't seem to have said a single full sentence in that whole time.

Finally, with a _"thank you so much,"_ he hung up and snapped his flip phone shut, tucking it away in his back pocket.

"Who _was_ that?" Dean asked, mouth still full from his last bite of jerky.

Sam ignored this question. Or else he hadn't heard it, because he was preoccupied in his head. Dean wasn't sure which one.

He frantically pushed past Dean as though he were in some sort of rush. He pulled his duffel bag out from underneath the bed, and thrust it on top of the mattress. It landed a couple feet away from where Dean sat.

"Dude. What's up with you?" Dean asked, rolling the plastic beef jerky wrapper into a ball and tossing it. He was aiming for the wastebasket that was literally only inches from where his feet dangled off the bed.

When he missed horribly, he knelt down to pick it up and place it in there himself.

Sam still didn't respond. Rather, he continued shuffling through his bag, apparently searching for something. Dean waved his hand in his brother's face to grab his attention.

 _"Hey."_

"Hm?" Sam asked, snapping out of his thoughts and in to whatever Dean had been trying to say.

"What's wrong? You lose something?"

"Uh... no," he said, in a tone that told Dean that he was, in fact, lying. He began to dig around in his bag a little bit more, before pulling out a slip of paper that had been folded up two or three times. "F-found it," he added with a half-hearted smile, smoothing the paper out as best he could to unwrinkle it. He began to stuff everything else back inside his bag.

"You okay?" Dean asked, starting to help Sam with shoving all his clothing and various objects into his duffel.

"Me?" Sam stuttered. "Yeah, uh... I'm fine. Why?"

"Dude, you don't _look_ fine," Dean answered frankly. "You're acting all weird lately."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, as though he was convinced he was acting 100% normal.

"What do I _mean?_ Where do I _start?_ For one, when I went to talk to those families, you didn't wanna help at all. And, look, I'm not angry. I've sat out before. You need a break, I get that, you of all people deserve to relax. But right now, you're _not_ relaxed, Sam. You look all nervous and jittery. So, what's up with you?"

"What? Nothing," Sam replied, trying to sound nonchalant, but coming off as more... _chalant._

"Mm-hmm," Dean came back sarcastically, staring at him with incredulity. _**Like I'm gonna believe that.**_

"Really, Dean, it's nothing. It's nothing," he insisted, though this made Dean think even more that it _wasn't_ nothing. "Just don't... don't be mad at me, Dean."

"Mad at you?" he scoffed. "What for? What'd you do?"

Sam avoided answering once again, zipping up his duffel and leaving it on the edge of the bed. He walked to the other side of the room to where their dad still sat jotting stuff down in his journal.

"Sam?" Dean asked again, his eyes narrowing in a hybrid expression of caution and confusion. Was Sam really gonna go to the extreme of interrupting John in his work? When he was so focused?

Sam shook his head and waved his hand dismissively, as though to tell Dean to not worry about it.

 ** _Like hell I'm not gonna worry about it._**

* * *

Sam hesitantly tapped John on his forearm, which startled the older hunter out of his thoughts.

"Yeah, Sam?" John asked, clearing his throat, closing up his journal and setting his pen aside. "What do you need?"

"Dad. I, uh... I've got to show you this," Sam muttered, gingerly handing the folded-up paper in John's direction.

"What's this?" John snatched it from him, unfolded it roughly, and started to skim-read it.

Dean narrowed his eyes once again and cocked his head in confusion. He shifted positions so he was sitting back against the bed's headboard. He knew he should mind his own business. But he also wasn't afraid to try and determine what was going on via eavesdropping. Which wasn't exactly a hard feat in a motel room of that size.

Then came about twenty seconds of stark, awkward silence. Thickly painted with the dread of something unpleasant about to go down. Then their father finally broke the silence when he burst out.

"Stanford?! You applied for _Stanford?_ "

And just like that, Dean finally understood why things had been feeling so wrong. Sam was hiding something all along.

 ** _Oh god, Sammy._**

 ** _You really went and did it._**

 ** _Stanford..._**

Dean wasn't sure if what he was feeling was shock or pride. Or maybe a little bit of both. He knew that Sam had been wanting to go to college, but he didn't think he'd actually apply to any of them. Not without telling him first.

But to actually go and apply, not just to some small-town community college in the slums, but _Stanford?_ That was up there with the _Ivies._

 _ **Good for him.**_

 ** _But Dad's gotta be pissed._**

"When the _hell_ did you apply for Stanford!?" Just as Dean thought, John didn't sound happy at all. Nor did he sound nearly as impressed as Dean was. He didn't sound impressed at all. He sounded like he was majorly ticked off.

"It doesn't matter _when_ I applied," Sam replied, blandly. "I got in."

* * *

 _ **He got in?...**_

There it was again. The mixed feelings that were filling Dean's mind.

 _ **Well, no kidding. Of course he got in, kid's a genius.**_

He was thrilled for Sam, yeah. How _couldn't_ he be? But that didn't take away the huge shock factor of it all. It didn't change the fact that John wasn't taking this well at all.

In fact, John was taking it about as well as a guy who just learned his car has been totaled. "And what? You expect me to pay for you to go there?"

"No, Dad, of course not. I got a full ride. I'm leaving today. I thought you'd wanna know."

Dean could hardly process what was playing out.

 _ **Full ride?... Wow.**_

He knew his brother was smart, but to pull of a full ride at a school like Stanford? That was an accomplishment, a major accomplishment.

 _ **This means at some point, he got an acceptance letter in the mail...**_

 _ **probably weeks ago, come to think of it...**_

 _ **and we didn't even see it until now.**_

 _ **How come he never told me?**_

 _ **And now, he's... he's leaving?**_

 _ **Today?**_

 _ **And Dad... He's not even happy for him. He-**_

His train of thought was interrupted when John spoke up,

"I hope you don't think I'm driving you."

That was the most _John Winchester_ thing he could've said in that moment. It should've been a shocker. For any other family, the father reacting like that _would_ be shocking, perhaps. But in their case, it wasn't.

"I wouldn't expect that," Sam scoffed. "I wouldn't expect _anything_ from you, Dad."

"Sam-" Dean warned. He didn't want this to turn into another full-fledged argument between his brother and his father. He didn't want to have to pick a side, nor did he want be stuck in the middle of it. But if both Sam and John kept up their current attitudes, it'd be a nasty fight in no time at all.

"What? Come on, Dean, help me out here. You know I'm right!" retorted Sam.

Dean couldn't argue there.

John had done little to provide for their educations, ever -from the first day of Kindergarten all the way through high school graduation. So why would it suddenly change now?

* * *

"What?" continued Sam, turning back to his father. "Did you really think I'd anticipate a _"congratulations!"_ , or a hug, or a ride to the airport, or anything like that? No. I'm smarter than that. I just called a cab, they'll be here in five minutes, give or take."

 ** _A cab. That's who he was calling..._**

 ** _God, five minutes?_**

 ** _This is insane-_**

"Oh, and I'm supposed to just be okay with this? Huh?" John asked. And while Dean couldn't quite name an emotion for the look on his face, it sure wasn't joy or ecstasy.

"Of course not, Dad. I never expected you to be okay with it, or happy for me, or hell, _proud of me_ for once,... I- I just hoped that maybe, I don't know,... you'd be reasonable."

"Oh, _I'm_ unreasonable? You're the one talking about running off to Stanford!"

"Dad-" Dean entered again.

 _ **Nope.**_

 _ **Too late.**_

 _ **'s already turning into a fight.**_

 _ **Fan. tastic.**_

"It's not like I'll be there forever. I just- I need a break," Sam sighed.

"A _break?"_ John asked with a bitter chuckle. "A break from what?"

"A break from our work! You know, some time away from home, away from you guys, away from... _this."_

Dean didn't let it show, but those words stung a little. Was Sam really that desperate to get away from him? From his only brother, and, frankly, his only friend?

"Well I'm sorry it's been so _awful_ for you," John apologized. Though clearly he was being sarcastic, and not sincere in the slightest.

"Guys, come on," Dean intervened yet again, attempting to play peacemaker, because he couldn't _stand it_ when they fought in front of him. "Are you really gonna argue right now? All you ever do is argue!"

"Stay out of this, Dean," John spoke, sounding like a time bomb that would go off any minute.

He was angry now, yeah, but the scary thing was... it wasn't _close_ to the worst it could be.

 ** _So... I guess that's a yes._**

 ** _They really are going to argue over this._**

 ** _Just- just perfect. Really._**

 ** _Perfect._**

"Listen to me, Sam," John continued. "We take breaks, and good people die."

"What are you saying, Dad? I go to college, work hard enough, maybe eventually I get into law school. And, what, that's not _important_ enough for you? You telling me that doesn't help people? This could be a great opportunity."

Sam sounded solemn in explaining this to his father. As if he _knew_ it was pointless, John would _never_ side with him. Yet he still wanted to defend his actions, try to make his father see through his eyes.

"You know another 'great opportunity', Sam? Staying by your family's side when they need you!"

"And I _have,_ Dad. God, _all my life._ My whole life, I- I worked hard, I did exactly what you wanted me to, and you never thanked me. And I never complained. But now, I'm not allowed to finally do something, one thing, for me?"

"You want to get away? You wanna do something for yourself? Fine, then go ahead. Go get a beer, a hooker, catch a movie or something."

"Unbelievable. I get accepted into my dream school. Full ride. And instead of congratulating me, you're turning it around and acting like it's outrageous?"

"Guys, c'mon, please don't do this," Dean pled.

Maybe their relationship was beyond repair at this point. Maybe. But hell if Dean wasn't gonna _try_ to help them patch it up, _somehow..._

But Sam ignored his brother. He knew, after all, that there was no stopping this fight. The best he could do would be to try to get in the last word. And boy, was he gonna try.

"I mean, for real, Dad. Can't you, for once, not make everything so difficult for me?"

"You want this to be easy, Sam?" John shot back. "Then I'll make this easy for you. I'll let you decide. You shred this letter, and you stick here with us, doing what needs to be done."

"Or?" Sam asked, waiting for the second half of his father's inevitable ultimatum.

"Or? Or you go. Just... just _go._ See if I care... But if you go, don't you _ever_ come back."

"Dad!" Dean yelled in shock at the words that his father had _actually_ said. "You don't mean that..."

"Dean, I told you, this is none of your concern!" John cut him off again, even more fury and rage in his eyes than there'd been earlier. "And do I _look_ like I'm kidding? Because you can be damn well sure I'm _not."_

 ** _No. No, he's not_ _joking._**

Dean could tell from John's tone, his expression, his inflections... He wasn't joking at all.

 ** _He's_ _ **full-on serious. He m** eans every bit of it.  
_**  
"So, Sam," continued John. "...What'll it be?"

Dean wanted to stop this. This was stupid, this was insane-

But it was a situation that was out of his hands. He had no relevance to the topic, he had no way to pick a side without either his brother or his dad feeling betrayed.

And that made it hurt all the more. That for once, he had to watch as it all unraveled, because he was powerless to do anything.

Sam wordlessly yanked the letter back from his father, an expression of unforgiving bitterness painting his face, and tucked it into the pocket of his jeans.

As if on cue, a car horn sounded outside their window as Sam's taxi pulled up. He stormed back to the bed where Dean sat, lifted his duffel up from the mattress, and swung it over his shoulder.

"Sammy,..." Dean looked up at him sadly, not knowing what to be thinking, what to say, what to _do..._ _  
_  
Sam opened his mouth, as though to say something in reply. But then he closed it, changing his mind in realizing there was nothing he could possibly say to make this all okay. And there was nothing more he _wanted_ to say. He instead just shook his head in dismay and huffed off, walking out the room and slamming the door behind him.

 _ **...Sam.**_


	4. Chapter 3

**Author's note (edit):**

 **I forgot to mention this when I first published this chapter, and that's totally my bad, but I'd like to give a warning that this is close to where things start to get a little intense. Moving on, we'll likely have some light-to-moderate depictions of blood (nothing too grotesque, that's not how I roll), violence, etc. Thought it'd be nice to give everyone a heads-up.**

 **Thanks for the support!**

* * *

"Dean. We should get back to tracking those witches down..." John interrupted the solemn silence that had been contained for the past 15 minutes. He'd been trapped in his furious thoughts long enough, and now he was itching to get back to work, get his mind off of the recent argument.

However, he looked over to see that Dean didn't quite share those sentiments. He still seemed disturbed.

What do you say to someone who had to watch his brother walk out on him? Someone who was once again caught in the middle between his father and brother? Sitting and watching a quarrel that he couldn't end?

How do you even begin a conversation like that? John wasn't sure. But he settled with "You alright, son?"

 ** _Am I alright? Did he really just ask that?_** Dean wondered...

 _ **...Then again, does he even mean it?**_

 _ **Nah. It's a courtesy.**_

"You know what, Dad? _No,_ I'm not okay," is what he wanted to say in reply. He wanted more than anything to be able to muster up the guts to tell him that what he did was wrong. "He's your son, and you didn't even show him a little support" would suffice. Or "It's because of you that Sam walked out without saying goodbye. And now we may never see him again."

It's what he was thinking, after all.

But he couldn't.

He may have been fearless when it came to offing monsters, facing darkness, looking evil straight in the eye. But he couldn't bring himself to stand up to his father.

Yeah, he was a coward, he knew it. But he couldn't help it. He couldn't face it, not today.

So instead, he wiped a hand across the bottom of his moist eyes, sucked in a deep breath, and, biting back a sob, muttered, "Yes, sir."

Even if he had been a convincing liar, which he _wasn't_ particularly, Dean had no good reason to be okay with what happened. He could try to hide it all he wanted, sure. It was his specialty, after all. But John knew that Dean _had_ to be upset. He and Sam were too close, had gone through too much together for him _not_ to be.

John shifted his chair so it was facing toward Dean, and let out a sigh, not knowing what to say.

Feeling his father's eyes upon him made Dean more uneasy. He wasn't ready to be harassed with a pep talk or a confrontation. He couldn't tell if John's sigh had come out of sympathy or disappointment. Disappointment in his vulnerability. Disappointment in Sam, in life... Who could tell? But he figured it was safer to assume it was some sort of disappointment.

He decided that if he focused on their work, his father might skip giving him the _"This is our job. Yeah, it's brutal, but we can't afford to let something like this knock us down"_ speech. Or, worse, the _"Sam was always a lost cause, quit worrying about him"_ speech. So in order to avoid that, Dean cleared his throat and began recalling details on their latest case.

"Going over what we already know, there were three victims. The police found the last guy's body 2 days ago. No more signs since then, but these witches are probably still out there, gunning for a fourth as we speak. There were a few connections between their victims-"

"-Hold on," John cut him off. "That stuff can wait... We need to talk."

 ** _Oh no. Here it comes._**

Dean had hoped the unpleasant parts of the day had finally ended, but now he was seeing that wasn't quite the case.

* * *

"Did you know about this, Dean?"

"Know about what?" Dean asked, faking naivete, as if he had no clue what his father was referring to. Which, of course, he did. All too well.

"About Sam. Leaving."

"What? N-no," he stuttered unwillingly. Although this was the exact topic of question he had been anticipating, it still somehow caught him off guard. "Uh, I was as surprised as you were."

"Tell me the truth for once, Dean," John said. As though Dean had done something to prove himself untrustworthy. Like he had any reason to think Dean was lying in this moment.

"I didn't know anything about it," Dean insisted.

 ** _I wish I had._**

"Come on, Dean, you expect me to believe that? Doesn't he tell you everything?"

"Yeah. Well,... not this time, I guess."

 ** _Not sure why._**

"Well then, if you weren't in on it, how could you let it happen?"

"What, _me?"_

"Yeah. I mean, he trusts you. You could've done something to stop him from walking out. Right?"

"You asked me to stay out of it," Dean retorted as calmly as he could. He didn't want to anger his father any further, sure. But he definitely wasn't about to let John dump the blame onto him.

"You could've intervened when the timing was right."

"And done what? Chained him to the bed when he said he didn't wanna stay? Look, Dad, as much as I hate it, neither of us saw this coming. And there's nothing we could've done to change his mind. Besides, you're forgetting that he's an adult now. He can make his own decisions."

"Are you _defending_ him?"

Dean knew it was now or never. He could live the rest of his life afraid of his Dad, afraid of upsetting him, of disappointing him,... or he could tell him that what he did was wrong.

After all, family should be the ones to tell you when you do something stupid or douchey. They should be the ones guiding you, helping you change. It's not out of hatred, of spite, or fear. It's, essentially, out of love.

"... Yes. I _am_ defending him," he said dryly. "That's my job, he's my brother. That's _always_ been my job. Especially since-..." Dean bit his tongue. Did he really want to say that?

"Since what?" John wasn't about to let that sentence go unfinished.

"...Well let's be honest, Dad. You were hardly around for us, growing up. Yes, you taught us well, but 'nurturing' is hardly what I'd call you. And it's because of you that now he's all upset, and I-... Hell, I might never see him again."

"What, you think this is _my_ fault?"

"Not entirely, no. He's obviously been wanting to go for some time now."

"...Really?"

"Yeah, Dad. He talked about it all the time." Dean was shocked at how oblivious John had truly been to this. "He always told me, either Duke or Stanford. Mighta said something about Harvard a few times, too. It was his _goal,_ there was no convincing him otherwise. And look at the way you talked to him. _'Don't come back'?_ I mean, you basically banished him from our lives."

 _"Banish_ is a strong word."

"Oh really? Is it? 'cause I know the way he thinks. And right now, I'd bet everything that he feels like you disowned him. That means he's not gonna call, he's not gonna write, he's not gonna pop in on weekends, or between semesters, or even on _Christmas..._ And, yeah, I can see why he'd think that. Because you told him, straight out, _never come back._ And you _meant_ it. But _I-"_ Dean paused, chewing his bottom lip and inhaling sharply through his nose. _He hated this. Having to bite back tears while his dad couldn't care less._ "I didn't ask for that."

"Dean-"

"-No, you know what, Dad? You've never once told him, not _once,_ that you're _proud_ of him. He... - he did something good, Dad. And you threw him out. What kind of a father does that make you?"

"Excuse me?"

"...You heard me. You're being selfish-"

"-Oh, this is _so_ not your place." John continued to look more and more frustrated by the minute.

"Oh, yeah? If this isn't my place, then what _is?_ I was just trying to be his brother, show him my support, but _you..._ You said some things that were way out of hand. And you should be ashamed of yourself."

"And _you_ should learn to be more respectful in the things you say."

"Oh, respectful? _Respectful?_ You mean just like _you_ were during that pleasant conversation with Sam? I don't think so. We're way past that."

 ** _Whoa. Did I really just say all that?_**

Dean had to step back for a minute to realize what he'd done. He was used to keeping his thoughts inside, especially when it came to talking to his father.

 ** _Yeah... Yeah, I did._**

But this time he actually spoke his mind.

 ** _...I'm gonna regret that._**

* * *

"Now you listen to me, Dean," John rose and grabbed Dean by the collar of his t-shirt, clenching it tightly between his fists.

Soon enough, Dean was being thrown up against the wall, pinned by his father's grip on his collar. He tried to be strong, but ended up flinching more than he was proud to admit. His eyes squeezed tight, lips trembling involuntarily. He could fight monsters and demons any day, but God forbid, should anyone put his own father up against him-

"If anyone's out of hand, it's _you,"_ John stated. And what was scary was, John truly believed what he was saying. Even though Dean couldn't have disagreed more. His eyes were cold and intent upon Dean, his voice was piercing, like he intended to drill everything he said deep into Dean's mind. "You shouldn't speak to me that way."

"Dad, please," Dean rasped, too afraid to look his dad straight in the eye. "I don't wanna argue with you. Okay?" That was the truth. He was fed up with arguments. He just wanted the three of them to reconcile and get along for once in their lives. "But take a look at yourself right now. You've got a temper. And when you get out of control like this, you could use someone telling you you're wrong."

"I'm wrong? I'm out of control? Are you completely forgetting what your brother just did? Are we really gonna keep glossing over that?"

"You say that like he just joined a cult or something. He went to _college._ Cut him some slack!"

"I can't believe this," John scoffed. "It's like both of my sons lost respect for me in the same day." He released some of the tension from his grip on Dean, hanging his head.

"No," Dean quickly disagreed. "You're wrong. I do respect you, Dad. I respect you more than _anyone._ And that's why I'm telling you this."

Dean had kissed up to his father before, it was true. But there was nothing about this statement that wasn't completely sincere. All he'd ever striven for was gaining his father's approval. To finally feel like he'd done enough, to feel like he was wanted, loved.

And John couldn't seem to understand that.

"Look," Dean added with a sigh, softening his voice, finally looking his dad in the eye. "It's not gonna be easy. I miss him already. But we've gotta support him. We're his family."

"Yeah? He must think real highly of this 'family' for wanting to leave us," John said with disdain.

"We... We've got our flaws, Dad. In case you didn't notice, we don't exactly have the picket-fence, station wagon life."

"Do you think I asked for that thing to come in the middle of the night? Do you think this is what I wanted for us?"

 _"No._ -Look, we'll never get our old life back. I know that. It's always been the three of us, up against the world, but... Sammy's tired of it, Dad. He never enjoyed it the way you do."

"You think I like the fact that this is my job?"

"You _know_ that's not what I'm saying," Dean returned, upset that John would even think _for_ _a minute_ that he would ever insinuate something like that.

"Then what _are_ you saying, Dean? Huh? That you back his choices to abandon us?"

"This isn't abandonment, Dad. You've gotta put yourself in his shoes. He's a wide-eyed genius kid who wants to do more with that brain of his than hunt creatures for once. We gotta let him have this. We'll manage without him, we've done it before. You need to let it go. P- put me down. Please."

John slowly nodded, fully released his grip on Dean's collar, and set him back on the ground. Dean exhaled sharply and began to back away.

"See?" Dean asked with a nervous smile, brushing his shoulders. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

John gave a silent nod in reply, but something in his eyes told Dean he wasn't quite ready to forgive and forget. The way he was staring off blankly, the way he was clenching his jaw, it seemed like he still had unresolved feeling boiling in his mind.

"Let's just... get back to hunting those witches. Okay? ...Dad?"

John mumbled a quiet agreement, which Dean couldn't make out. Something was still off. John was still angry, there was still a rage in his eyes, no matter how subtle it was.

But that was normal. John often took a while to let go of grudges. He'd be upset for a while, but at least there was no more verbal argumentation. At least they could finally get some work done without having to deal with any more conflict.

And right when Dean was starting to feel a small certainty that they had reached a peace, he was proven wrong. Because John was grabbing him by the shoulders and forcefully shoving him off to the side. Storming past him towards the door, not a care in the world that he'd harmed his son.

Stumbling over himself, unable to catch his balance, Dean hit his head on the corner of the side table that sat beside John's bed. Letting out a pained yelp with the impact, he then crashed to the floor, collapsing onto himself.

 _ **So...**_

 _ **guess he's still mad.**_

* * *

"I'm going to get a drink, and then I'll find the witches on my own. I'm gonna check out my own motel, somewhere else. You might find yourself better off not joining me until you've learned to keep yourself in line." John may have been angry earlier, but he was _fuming_ now.

"D- Dad..." Dean swallowed hard.

 ** _No, he can't do this to me. Not now._**

John didn't look like he was kidding, though. He was gathering up his stuff and not even giving a single glance in Dean's direction.

"Hey, wait- N-no, Dad, please, you- you can't leave me like this," he begged in a strained, shaky whisper. His vision was already starting to go black. He couldn't get out of this on his own. "Dad?"

Still, John walked out on him, in the very way Sam had before. In a huff, inconsiderate of Dean's feelings, and slamming the door behind him.

"Dad... Dad! Please. I'm sorry, please, come back. I- can't move. I can't m-"

His breath caught in his throat before releasing into a choked sob that he couldn't hold back.

 _God,_ today hadn't gone as planned at _all._

 _This was it._

He knew someday he'd manage to get both his dad and his brother mad enough to leave him on his own, what with his stubbornness and snark and irritability. But what an inopportune moment it was for that to finally happen. He knew his family was dysfunctional, but to abandon loyalty? To leave each other to die? His family had serious issues.

His head throbbed, and he could already feel blood beginning to pool around it. He knew it could be futile to lift his head off the ground, and it felt too stiff and heavy to even try.

Still, he knew he was on his own this time. He'd have to get out of this somehow.

His eyelids started to feel heavier. But before he could doze off and give in to the pull of unconsciousness, tempting as it was, he shook himself awake. Snapped back into the moment. Because he knew if he let himself fall asleep, he might not ever wake back up.


End file.
